


A Little More, A Little Deeper

by jettiebettie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Deepthroating, Double Anal Penetration, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Threesome, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 13:53:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2695451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jettiebettie/pseuds/jettiebettie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He spends his first day in the future being defensive, scared, and confused. By day three he learns where his sex life is heading.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little More, A Little Deeper

He spends his first day in the future being defensive, scared, and confused. By day three he learns where his sex life is heading.

Not that Derek meant to, but here he is, his crotch so close to the Stilinski guy’s face that he can feel his hot breath through the material. His older self grins, readjusting Stiles’ legs over his arms before he resumes his slow pace. 

"Go on," he says, and Derek isn’t sure who he’s giving permission to, because both he and Stiles act. He’s wrenching open his jeans as Stiles leans his head further back over the edge of the mattress, mouth falling open without hesitation. Derek pushes his underwear down, taking himself in hand, and swallows. He has no idea what he’s doing, this is so over him, so outside anything he’s ever done or wanted to do but-

But it doesn’t stop him from tentatively resting his tip on those lips, doesn’t stop him from hissing when an eager, hot tongue runs a deliberately slow line across his slit before drawing him further in. He keeps a hand clenched tightly in the fabric of his jeans and the other around his base as he makes tiny thrusts into that mouth, uncertain if he’s allowed to touch anything else. 

His older self snaps his hips then, the movement causing Stiles to moan around Derek, back arching off of the mattress briefly before hands grip sheets. The pace steadily picks up from there, and Derek doesn’t know what to concentrate on. Every little thing is adding fuel to the fire in his body, from the way Stiles takes him in a little more to the way he cants his hips to meet every thrust the man between his legs is giving him. He watches broader hands than his own grip Stiles’ thighs and slide up that lean torso, leaving muscles shivering in their wake. 

And he wants that. He wants to make that happen too. 

He places a hand on the exposed underside of Stiles’ chin, holding him in place as he pushes in deeper. Stiles makes a startled noise, and Derek can’t help from looking up to his older self. The man hasn’t stopped moving, the wet, filthy sounds still in time with every rock of his hips, but his eyes are on Stiles’ throat and Derek finds he can’t hold back any more.

He presses in again and doesn’t stop this time. Stiles’ hands come up to grip his hips, but there’s little strength in their resistance. He has no choice but to relax his throat as best he can as Derek begins to fuck his mouth in a counter rhythm. There are sloppy, choking sounds with every push he makes, and he can feel saliva begin to drip down to his balls. 

But that’s nothing in comparison to watching his cock fill that long, pale throat, slowly, repeatedly. He so fascinated that he actually stops for a moment to run his hand along it, his fingers a cool contrast to that too warm skin. The sensation of added pressure from his finger tips makes him grind his teeth, his hips making tiny aborted thrusts. But Stiles’ begins spasms around him, chest heaving as hands grip him tighter. Almost reluctantly, Derek pulls out, letting Stiles cough and regain his breath. Well. As much as he could try.

His older self lifts a leg over his shoulder, his pace turning brutal as the crude slapping of skin overlays with Stiles’ cries. His face is red and his eyes are tearful when they’re not tightly shut, still holding onto Derek for dear life. Almost mindlessly, Derek takes himself in hand again, quickly working his spit-soaked shaft. He’s so close, he’s so fucking close he can taste it, wants to taste it, wants to lick it off those swollen lips and-

The sound he makes is nothing short of embarrassing as his body seizes and knees buckle, his come splattering across Stiles’ neck, chin, and mouth in long stripes. Stiles doesn’t last much longer than he does, shooting across his own stomach and chest with a sharp cry. Derek’s older self has stopped, fully seated inside as Stiles clenches and twitches with orgasm, before continuing at a slower pace. 

"Go clean up," the man says, not even bothering to take his eyes off of Stiles or cease caressing his skin. It takes Derek a moment to realize that he’s the one being addressed, but he doesn’t argue as he moves toward the connected bathroom. A small, exhausted moan from Stiles makes him look back for a second, stunned when he sees that his older self has already come, semen coating his cock as he leisurely continues to fuck Stiles’ limp body. Derek isn’t sure he’ll ever fully recover from what just happened and yet apparently he gains the stamina of a bull.

 _Awesome_.

He takes maybe a little longer than necessary to clean himself, but he needs to process. Splash a little water on his face and all that. It’s almost impossible to tune out what’s still happening in the bedroom and it’s doing horrible, terrible,  _fantastic_  things to his already traumatized libido. All his cock manages is interested twitch, and Derek adjusts himself in a vain attempt to relieve the pressure. When he does finally exit the bathroom, he nearly runs into himself, now wearing a pair of sweatpants and a neutral expression. He steps out of the way as the man moves to turn the faucet on and fill the tub. Derek opens his mouth a time or two, not sure if he should say something, if something even  _needs_  to be said, but a glance to the bed distracts him. 

Stiles is sprawled out haplessly more fully over the mattress, looking wrecked and  _used_. His chest is still heaving slightly, his body covered in a sheen of sweat and other bodily fluids. Embarrassingly, Derek salivates when he sees the mess he left on that still-red face. He chances a quick glance to see himself busy with the tub before walking over. Bleary, almost unseeing eyes open as Derek runs a hand through Stiles’ hair. One lick to his lips becomes two and three and then Stiles opens his mouth to him. Who is he to say no? 

It’s easily the filthiest kiss he’s ever been part of, the taste of himself on Stiles’ skin is addicting in the dirtiest way and Derek can’t help taking it farther, pressing his tongue in and working his mouth against Stiles’ lax one. It’s a slow, lazy rhythm that makes Derek want to crawl in bed with him and never stop.

The sound of the faucet shutting off causes him to jerk away, his heart pounding. Derek makes a rush for the door and pretends he doesn’t want to stay and be the one to bathe with that boy.

-

All he had wanted was to get away from people for a while; the McCall guy seemed sincere enough, and Lydia was so intimidating it bordered on attractive, but there was only so much coddling he could take. He’d felt like he was being handled with kid gloves, and something about that rubbed him the wrong way. He’s seventeen, not five. He’d wanted some time to himself before he ended up saying or doing something that would have just made a horrible situation even worse. Retreating to his future self’s shitty apartment bedroom was the most logical thing he could think of at a moment’s notice.

And okay, so he didn’t hear the heartbeats on the other side of the door, sue him. He’s still working on the whole  _paying attention to your environment_  thing. To be honest, it’s a little hard to pay attention to anything beyond the body that was slowly riding his future self’s dick. Those hips moved stiltedly, as if the feeling was too much, and that dotted back arched with every pull upward. Hitched, stuttering breaths filled an otherwise quiet room and made Derek’s catch in his throat. He was just standing there like an idiot, eyes wide and hand still on the door knob when his older self gave that first order.

_"Just come in, already."_

But nothing of that needy, desperate body is anywhere to be seen now. Stiles makes no acknowledgement of what happened last night, he won’t even so much as look him in the eye. Derek was ready to get down on one knee, ‘til death do they stop fucking, but his initial awkward wave was met with nothing short of indifference.

So yeah. He’s a little irritated now. Irritated and snappy in the middle of a crowded vet’s office.

"You mean I’m stuck here?" he asks. Deaton shakes his head.

"Not indefinitely, no. But this is a time sensitive situation. You arrived on the Full Moon, therefore we have to send you back on the Full Moon. I’m afraid you’ll be with us for a few weeks."

Derek can’t help but scoff, even as Scott places a hand on his shoulder.

"Don’t worry. We’ll make sure you get home, I promise."

When Derek agitatedly rolls his shoulder to shake Scott off, Stiles finally looks at him, pinning him with a sneer and disapproving eyes. 

"Look, you get a three week vacation where Scott’s mom feeds you until you’re sick and you learn who wins, like, ten World Series games. We should all be so lucky." 

And it’s hard. It’s hard to engage in this kind of banter when all Derek wants to do is  _ruin_  him, throw him on that examination table and-

He grits his teeth and turns away when he feels his face heat up. Scott must mistake it for anger because he quickly tries to placate the situation. Derek doesn’t need to look at his older self to know he’s being stared at and it’s a weird feeling, like a mirror is looking at  _him_ ; no, right through him. He can’t help but side eye the man as he leans over to whisper something in Stiles’ ear, too quick for Derek to focus pass Scott’s diplomatic attempts. Stiles frowns and gives the man a dirty look before pushing past everyone, leaving the room.

"Whatever," he says at the door. "Call me when things are back to normal." 

Derek’s older self follows and Derek himself will be damned if he’s left behind. 

"I’m riding back with them," he says through his teeth.

"I don’t think that’s-"

Derek ignores Scott in favor locating the other two in the parking lot, hands in petulant fists when he confronts Stiles. 

"What’s your problem?" he demands, suddenly feeling like his pride is at stake. Last night had kind of been the hottest thing to ever happen to him, and now it’s being spoiled. Stiles’ lips form a thin line, but Derek’s older self just stands there, observing.

"I don’t have a problem," Stiles says. 

"Obviously you do," Derek says, because he’s stubborn, Mom always said so. "Or you wouldn’t be brushing me off."

"Jesus, Derek," Stiles says to the man next to him. "Please tell me your mini-me isn’t freaking out about this." 

This. This being Derek’s first sexual experience of that nature. This being the measure by which he will judge all other similar encounters for the rest of his natural born life.  _This_  being his fucking heart. And dick. But maybe mostly his heart.

"Don’t take it the wrong way," Derek’s older self says, not to Stiles, but to himself. "He just enjoyed it more than he wants to admit. He’s the one freaking out." He doesn’t even flinch when Stiles punches his arm with a solid smack, the impact making Stiles’ cringe and shake out his fingers.

"Fuck. You," he says, moving to the car door. The man casually grabs him at the elbow, keeping him in place. He moves to brush his lips against Stiles’ ear.

"He’s the one who wants to fuck you," he says easily, even as Derek’s face turn bright red again. Stiles doesn’t even looked surprised, just mad.

"You didn’t even ask last time," he says, crossing his arms. Derek opens his mouth to apologize, but his older self is already shrugging.

"You would have used the safe word if you’d wanted to stop."

"My mouth was kind of full at the time, asshole."

Safe word. They have a safe word. 

Jesus Christ.  

-

Derek has no idea what to do with his hands. It didn’t take a whole lot of convincing, but Derek doesn’t want to do anything that will make Stiles change his mind. 

Stiles’ back is to him again, straddling the lap of the other with his arms around broad shoulders. There’s kissing happening, open and wet, but Derek’s not a part of that. Hands holds Stiles’ open to him, show Derek that pink, twitching hole. Nervously, he fumbles with the bottle of lubricant, getting maybe a little too much on his fingers before he presses them against the rim.

Stiles gives a breathy moan, pushing his hips back. Two of Derek’s fingers slip in without much resistance, Stiles’ body still a bit loose from last night. The heat he can feel inside of Stiles makes Derek shiver, the easy slide of his digits accompanied by the wet sound they make when being pushed back in - it’s enough that Derek has to grip himself with his other hand to keep in check. It’s a little tight when he adds another finger, but it’s soon easy again. Slightly dizzy from the scent of their combined arousal, Derek leans his head against the back of Stiles’ neck, watching his fingers work. 

Suddenly, Stiles straightens up a bit, body twisting as a hand reaches back to grab hold of Derek’s cock. A cry slips past Derek’s lips as Stiles’ long fingers curl around him and move in a perfect rhythm before guiding him to his hole. Steadying himself more on his knees, Derek swallows hard as he pushes against the rim, the tip slipping inside. He holds his breath as he slides further in, inch by inch until he’s flush against Stiles’ back. Irritably, there are already hands gripping Stiles’ hips, and he throws himself a dirty look before wrapping his arms around Stiles’ chest instead. He only manages a couple knee-weakening thrusts before his older self stops him. 

Unconsciously, Derek’s eyes flash and a low growl rumbles in chest. Stiles makes a impatient sound, pushing back against him and Derek can’t help but agree. Undaunted, his older self shifts a bit, bringing both of them closer. Derek doesn’t realize what’s happening until he feels another cock slide against his own.

"H-hey, what are you-" The other cock begins to try to press in along side him and Stiles cries out, nails digging into the man’s shoulders and burying his face in his neck. "Stop, you’re hurting him!"

"He can take it," the man says, unconcerned. He turns his head slightly, his cheek rubbing Stiles’. "Can’t you? Tell him. Tell him how much you need us both." He pushes upwards again, this time breaching the ring of flesh. A sharp keening noise comes from Stiles, a stray tear running down his face. But instead of yelling whatever safe word they have or saying anything at all, he bites his lip hard, body shaking as he pushes himself down. Quickly, Derek throws a hand out, searching for the discarded bottle. He practically upends it over their cocks, his chest swelling with pride when Stiles gives a appreciative moan at the added slickness. 

It’s so impossibly tight. He’s almost certain that they’ll end up ripping Stiles in two. It’s all Derek can do to hold himself still, but how can this be good for Stiles? 

"P-please," Derek suddenly hears. Stiles is mouthing wetly against his older self’s neck, tears more abundant now and breath choppy. "Let me-" Stiles moves his hips then, the motion causing Derek to gasp. Those broader hands release their iron grip on Stiles, and Derek realizes that the man has been in control of the pace thus far. With his hands now just resting gently against Stiles thighs, Stiles is the one who picks up the pace, rising up slowly at first before dropping back down twice as fast. 

"Easy," Derek hears his older self say softly and he doesn’t understand. Derek is already so close to coming, so close to giving in and moving himself that he-

He does. He moves. His cock slides against the other, Stiles’ rim clinging to him before he pushes back in, deeper this time. 

"Ah!" Stiles shouts against the neck he’s still presses into. His muscles twitch around them, breaking any self-restraint Derek still had. He wraps his arms tighter around Stiles’ chest, forehead again resting against Stiles’ back as he snaps his hips again and again. His older self begins a slower, more controlled rhythm, the added sensation making Derek bite down with blunt teeth into Stiles’ shoulder. He can’t last much longer, it’s impossible. He’s lost complete control of himself, pounding into Stiles as he tongues the mark he left, drinking up the half breaths Stiles makes, as if he can’t pull in enough air. 

He rocks with Stiles when the other boy comes, his head thrown back so hard he almost hits Derek’s nose. He clenches down so good on them, his spasming hole bringing Derek to the brink. He can’t even pull out it’s so tight in the midst of Stiles’ orgasm. Like he even needed an excuse to come inside, to fill him up the way he’d seen himself do. He tries to mimic last night, but only attempts a few more thrusts before he’s completely tapped out. He collapses forward, his hot pants cooling Stiles’ overheated, sweat slicked skin. 

It takes him a moment to realize his older self hasn’t finished. 

He doesn’t seem to be in a rush, too busy taking in the mess they’ve made of Stiles, the boy’s eyes once again distant as he continues his shuddered breathing. 

"He’ll need a few minutes," he says. "Then we’ll start again."

Three weeks, Derek thinks as he presses open-mouth kisses along Stiles’ spine. He’s definitely going to make the most of them.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry, Sheriff. Time traveling happened. And so did the repeated defiling of your son. This is just a terrible week for you, isn't it?
> 
> (Did you know you can find me on tumblr at jettiebettie.tumblr.com? It's true.)


End file.
